Philosophers and Warriors
by sorafallenangel11
Summary: They're mostly researchers. They use whatever resources they have to find the problem and then how to fix it. But more often than not, they end up fixing it themselves anyway. There are four of them, and usually they end up in two groups. The Warriors and the Philosophers. AU with hints of Season 3. Team Human!


**Hey guys. This is my first venture into the Teen Wolf fandom. This is not the best, but if I continue it, I hope it'll get better. This is only a starter, and quite obviously a Team Human fic - because I love the (it includes Danny!).**

**Tell me what you think, please. **

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Chapter 1

They meet up in the library. It's a small building, three rooms and a bathroom making up their central place for research. One room is the non-fiction, a small room with floor to ceiling bookcases lining all but one wall which is made entirely of glass. There are waist-high bookcases in rows in the first three-quarters of the room when you walk through the door, wide isles separating them. The last quarter of the room, nearest the window, has a semi-circle of sofas and chairs, ranging from soft and overstuffed, to wing-backed and rigid. There's a large, oak coffee table in the middle, a stack of that weeks magazines on one side and the daily newspaper neatly folded next to them.

The second room is the fiction room, a slightly bigger, circular room. There are bookcases crammed against each other against the wall, with more bookcases going around in circles that get smaller and smaller the closer they get to the middle of the room. At the centre is a circle of sofas and chairs, all of them comfy and squishy enough to get lost in the world of fiction for hours. There's a small table in the middle, a mess of papers and crayons from where it has yet tot be cleaned after that mornings meeting of mums and tots for reading and gossiping.

The third room is as big as the first, five computers lining two of the walls. There is an almost-dead printer at the beginning of each row. Against the back wall there is a big table, just enough room between the solid wood and the wall for four chairs and someone to sit in them comfortably. There are four more chairs on the other side, and two on either end. There are three plugs at each end of the table for people to plug in laptops. There is a huge, square window in the wall, letting whoever sits at the table be able to peer down and spy on the people walking on the street below them. In the empty space near the door, there is a small square of sofas, a coffee table in between them. There are that weeks newspapers strewn messily across the surface.

The bathroom is big, separated down the middle by a huge, round, sink, multiple taps coming off it facing in each direction. The white marble the sink is made out of reaches the ceiling, and wrapped around it is one large mirror. There are a set of three stalls on either side, and line of hand dryers on the back wall.

Stiles Stilinski knows all of this because he has spent every Wednesday here for the last three months. He comes in at four o'clock, on the dot, everyday. He spends half an hour at the computers, printing of anything from two to twenty pages of writing on one of the ancient printers. Occasionally there will be one or two other people in there with him, but he usually this the right spot where everyone else is too tired from a hard day at school or work to be spending it in the local library. He then spends fifteen minutes in the fiction section, picking out the newest supernatural thrillers on the bookcases. After a brief clean up of the crayons to help the lone librarian - and getting a rare smile out of the old, grey haired woman - he would wander down to the bathrooms. He would emerge five minutes later, having spent most of it restyling his growing hair.

That was when his schedule changed. He would either go spend ten minutes talking to the lady at the front desk, which was where the hallway began, near the only entrance to the library, or he'd make his way into the non-fiction section and spend the next ten minutes switching between fiddling with his earlier printed papers and reading the newspaper.

In the five minutes after five o'clock, his first friend would arrive. It was a tall, tan boy with a gentle face and always smiling eyes. He would be carrying a gym bag and a laptop case, and would settle himself on the sofa nearest wherever Stiles had situated himself. They would not speak as the boy pulled out his latest book and settled back comfortably, although that was when Stiles' knee would start jerking.

At quarter to five the rest of the group would arrive. Two girls. They would settle themselves quickly beside the boys, the petite red-head sitting next to Stiles and the tall, slender brunette seating herself next to the tall boy, who would put away his book. This was when the talking would start.

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"As much as I love watching sweaty boys beat each other to a bloody pulp with hard plastic, it does get rather tiring." Lydia Martin sighed as she leaned back gracefully as always against the couch.

Both boys snorted, glancing at each other before laughing as quietly as they could - they were in a library, after all, and if nothing else they knew to stay quiet (even if they were the only ones in the entire building aside from the librarian herself).

"I'm glad I quit." Stiles muttered, laughter still thick in his voice.

"I wish I'd quit." Danny Mahealani said, sighing like it was a great deal.

"So what did you find Stiles?" Allison Argent interrupted loudly, steering the conversation towards what their weekly meetings were actually about.

Stiles sniffed at Allison, turning to face the other couch.

"Well, I found out what is haunting Beacon Hills this time. You know, haunting. That kind of gives it away actually, damn it. Shouldn't have said that, especially that last part because now you know what I mean when I say haunting and I just gave away what I have spent like, ten minutes, coming up with a way of telling you." He pouted. "But you know, this mouth never listens." He sighs.

Looking around, he blinked at the bemused faces staring back at him.

"You do know what I'm talking about, right?" When he got no answer apart from an imperiously risen perfect eyebrow from Lydia, he sighs again. "We've got a phantom on our hands."

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**What do you think?**


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